


Contemplation & Observation

by LesbianArcher



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianArcher/pseuds/LesbianArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan finds herself changing too quickly to adapt and can't figure out who she is at heart: a Dalish Hunter or the Inquisitor.<br/>__<br/>Each chapter is a different character noticing the changes in Lavellan and trying to help her. Rating may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lavellan

The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, the one with the green hand that can close the rifts in the sky. Ellana Lavellan rarely heard her name spoken anymore. People would greet her with “Inquisitor” now and before that in Haven it was “Herald”. Occasionally they tacked “Lavellan” onto it, but that reminded people she was an elf. People knew her name, but it was easier for them to address her with a title. It was easier to hold someone up with a title and on a pedestal rather than to believe that someone average could do the those things.

Ellana never grew up aspiring to be great and do life-changing things. She grew up aspiring to be good. She knew she would not be the next Keeper, as she had no magic. She grew up under the tutelage of her mother, a hunter as well. Her father was a healer. She assisted her father with his herb gathering and her mother with the hunt. She wanted to be good, not great.

In the clan, she was just Ellana. She was greeted with laughs and smiles at home. At Skyhold, she is greeted with nods and mutters of respect before people shuffle off in fear that they’ll somehow offend her. She is not a comrade here, she is their leader, their savior, their Inquisitor.

Ellana Lavellan often thought of her clan, and with each thought she missed them even more.

She missed the talks with her Father about herbs and helping him heal small animals they came across just for the sake of doing something kind in return to nature. Her father bore the marks of Sylaise on his face and her mother the marks of Andruil. She missed the days when she would spend time lying on their chests at night and tracing the patterns after a long day of work and travel when they were all exhausted. She had them memorized by the time she was eleven. She missed the nights when she would sneak out of the tents to the nearby stream with her friends. That was the most exciting thing to her then.

Now, the most exciting thing was not dying when they went out to seal a rift. It was returning from a battle alive. Even so, it was a different kind of thrill. It was a relief instead of an exciting bit of teenage rebellion without any major consequences. She missed even those that she hated in her clan. Seeing them would act as a reminder of who she was before the glowed green mark that now dictated her life.

Her companions in the Inquisition like to think they know her. They pretend to know her reactions and what she likes and dislikes. In a way they do. They know what the Herald of Andraste would say. How the Inquisitor would respond to things. What they don’t know is how Ellana would respond and what she would say.

Ellana’s every move outside of her room felt scripted. An automatic response that was repeated and varied from person to person. None of it felt real. None of it felt like Ellana Lavellan, the young Dalish hunter, was speaking.

She pushes these uncertainties about who she is down. She cannot have a crisis about who she is when the Inquisition relies on her- when Thedas relies on her. She tells herself that she imagines it most of the time. She is still the same person after all. She starts to believe it over time. When asked how she is, She always returns it with a bright smile and a “Well, and yourself?”. She thinks no one notices that it’s fake. She’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Sera.


	2. Sera

When Sera first met the Inquisitor, she was disappointed with how elfy she was. At first, after just looking at her, Sera was tempted to turn tail and run. The green valla-whatever marks on her face were a clear indication of just how elfy the Inquisitor was. Her sense of style was also inherently elfy. She’d mutter in elven under breath when she was thinking and she’d curse to the elven gods as well. The way she perceived everything was just… elfy.

When Lavellan first tried to connect with Sera on an elf level in the tavern, Sera recoiled immediately. She lashed out and said that she had no interest in “elfy-elves” before standing and leaving the conversation for a different part of the tavern.

Sera wasn’t very fond of Lavellan after that incident. She decided that the Inquisitor was too elfy for her and that it would be better to avoid her as often as she could. It was hard at first since Sera was a member of the Inquisitor’s normal party that she took with her. Avoiding someone and being responsible for saving their arse at the same time was, essentially, impossible.

Then, Sera was replaced. Varric took her spot as an archer and, like Sera had wanted, her interactions with the Inquisitor slowed and then altogether stopped.

In the weeks that followed Sera found herself missing the Inquisitor just a tiny bit. She knew it was her own fault though. She kept picking fights with Cassandra and Solas which caused the party to be tense and almost cost Lavellan and Cassandra their lives. So, Lavellan switched her out for Varric, which was a slight improvement despite the disagreements between Cassandra and the dwarf.

A couple weeks later, after Haven had been destroyed and the Inquisition had established themselves in Skyhold, Sera finally held a conversation the Inquisitor again.

This time, everything was different.

Lavellan didn’t act elfy anymore.

When she swore under her breath it was “Maker” or some other Andrastian phrase. She no longer carried herself like an elf. Her steps were firm, grounded, and solid. She used to bounce around on the balls of her feet, ready to leap up and climb some trees or chase a hart. She freely said that she was the Herald of Andraste with conviction when before she would have recoiled from the phrase and wouldn’t answer to it.

While Sera could hold a conversation now and not feel uncomfortable with anything elfy, it still felt wrong. This wasn’t Ellana Lavellan she was talking to. She was the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisitor.

Sera didn’t like it.

She knew it was hypocritical of her. She disliked elfy Lavellan and wished she was less elfy. Now that it had happened and Lavellan was less elfy, she disliked Inquisitor Lavellan as well.

Sera noticed how big Lavellan’s smiles got sometimes and got a little upset. What was she having such a great laugh over while the world was almost ending?

Sera saw her smile at Cullen one day as the advisor exchanged a few words with the Inquisitor. She almost stormed over and gave Lavellan hell for the way she looked so happy. She waited another moment to observe and get Lavellan alone. When Cullen left Sera saw just how quickly the smile left when Cullen’s back had turned even slightly.

Lavellan’s shoulders dropped and her entire body seemed to go limp, just hanging there. Even from a distance, Sera could see the dull look in Lavellan’s eyes as she took a breath and bit her lip before straightening herself and moving forward with purpose into a crowded area.

Sera took to hanging out on convenient roof tops that just so happened to be near where the Inquisitor was during the day.

She saw the same pattern over and over. Smiles in front of people and a dull look when alone.

So, Sera did her best to cheer Lavellan up.

Unfortunately, Sera never had much experience in cheering someone else up. She cheered herself up with pranks and crude jokes, but she couldn’t prank other people on behalf of Lavellan.

Or could she?

For the next month, every person that looked at Lavellan the wrong way or bothered her found themselves in an uncomfortable or embarrassing position. Sometimes both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up will be Cassandra.


	3. Cassandra

Cassandra was pleased with how the Inquisitor had grown into her role.

When she first came to the realization that the elf was the key to their survival, that they _needed_ her, the Seeker was reluctant. A Dalish elf could not possibly think of all of Thedas, let alone believe in the Maker and that she was the Herald of Andraste. When she would swear it was always an elven phrase or by an elven god; She had never thought about the Maker or Andraste.

After Haven and her survival of the snowy mountain trek, things changed. The Inquisitor finally accepted her role. She now declared that she was the Herald of Andraste with no hesitation. Her head and shoulders were held high with confidence and each step was sturdy.

And yet it was all wrong.

Nothing felt right about it. Even though the Inquisitor had become exactly who Cassandra wanted her to be—a leader who was strong, sturdy, and confident, yet also kind—the change did not sit right with Cassandra.

So, Cassandra watched the Inquisitor carefully whenever she got the chance. At first Cassandra did not notice anything odd, but as time went on Cassandra learned the Inquisitor's habits. She knew her actions when she was happy and when she was sad. However, some constants remained through it all: a sigh, the occasional slip of a frown before it was covered with a smile, and an eternally tired look in her eyes.

The Seeker knew something was off with the Inquisitor, she just didn't know what could be causing it. She made inquiries, trying to see if anyone else noticed the change in their Herald’s behavior. Not many people had seen anything different about her, but some had noted a change in her demeanor.

Cassandra’s confusion lasted until she finally noticed something more about the Inquisitor.

It wasn't in her behavior, it was in what she was wearing.

Her armor had lost it’s elven style. It now bore the heavy fabrics, straight lines, and simplicity of Ferelden styles. Her armor used to be loose and allowed her a wide range of movement, with greens woven and stitched into swirling patterns of leaves.

Cassandra questioned the Inquisitor about it one day.

The Herald simple brushed it off with a shrug and a simple “It’s colder here.”

Cassandra would have preferred to leave it there and let that be the truth. It would have been simpler that way. Yet nothing was ever simple for the Seeker.

Cassandra pondered what she could possibly do to help the Inquisitor. She considered talking to her about it, but talking had never seemed to go well for Cassandra. The Seeker would always say the wrong thing and mess it up.

So Cassandra decided to give a gift instead.

She headed down into the Undercroft and spoke to Harritt and Dagna. Cassandra commissioned a set of armor for the Herald that combined warmth and the elven designs from her original set of armor.

It took around two weeks to finish, but the wait was worth it. Cassandra would never forget the Inquisitor’s response when she wore the armor.

“I feel like a Lavellan again.” 

When the Inquisitor wore that armor, Cassandra noticed the change in her demeanor. She was more confident and light on her feet. Her smiles were not always forced and came more easily to her.

The Inquisitor’s meticulous care for the armor made Cassandra proud. She knew all her worrying paid off in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is The Iron Bull


	4. Iron Bull

The Iron Bull made damn sure the Inquisition knew that he was Ben-Hassrath from the very beginning. Why people still thought they could hide things was beyond him. He knew exactly when you were lying and what actions were not sincere.

The Inquisitor’s smiles didn’t get past him. If you could even call them smiles. They were more like just movement of the mouth and muscles without any emotion or sincerity behind them. Her eyes would rarely reflect any emotion beside turmoil and hesitance.

Those actions he normally attributed to spies. He knew the Inquisitor was not a spy. People spied on her, not the other way around. So it must be an emotional problem. Something going on within her mind.

Of course, under the Qun when the mind got shitty you’d just head over to the Tamasarrans. They’d take care of whatever you needed and get you back on track—usually a good round of sex, with a bunch of mind stuff hidden underneath it of course.

Something told him that the Inquisitor’s problem was one that couldn’t be solved with a round of sex, even if it was the best round she’d ever have. Outside of the Qun feelings got involved, and the Inquisitor didn’t need to be sorting out demons and feelings at the same time.

No, Demons were enough trouble on their own. Damn Demons.

So Bull observed her for a day and noticed some particulars about her behavior.

The way she would run a hand through her hair as she bent down to pick something up. She would usually cross her legs when she sat down, unless the chair didn’t have arms. She ate less than she did at Haven. There were signs of a lack of sleep. She slightly favored her left leg. However, her responses to what she was called were the most interesting.

When she was called Inquisitor or Herald she would pause for just a moment before looking at whoever called her.

She took twice as long to reply to “Your Worship.”

When someone called her Lavellan she turned immediately and gave that person her full attention.

Ah, that’s it: identity crisis. She didn’t know who she really was anymore. Bull knew that Dalish clans tended to deny all things human, so for her to be hailed as a herald of a human religious figure would be confusing.

So Bull invited her to meet the Chargers.

They knew who she was, but Bull made sure to introduce her by saying—“You all know Lavellan!”—with a laugh and a smile.

He noted the confusion in their eyes when he said “Lavellan,” but they went with it.

It went awkwardly at first, but as the night went on both Lavellan and the Chargers warmed up to each other.

He made sure to treat her like a friend instead of a Boss for that night. She got along well with Krem, both exchanging playful banter at his expense. His dignity was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make to see a real smile pull at the lips of the Inquisitor.

It was a slow process, but Bull made sure she felt like any one of the guys when she was with the Chargers—not some grand untouchable figure above everyone.

He built a safe place for her to be normal and not oh so grand and holy.

That was the best that he could give her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull is hard to write, but I hope I did a good job! Varric is up next.


	5. Varric

Varric was a good enough story-teller to know that it had to happen eventually. The protagonist of any well-written story had to go through a period of self-doubt and questioning before they could emerge stronger, slay the villain, and be done with it all. He just hoped that the Inquisitor would be able to get through it in real life.

Thankfully, comforting people without them knowing it was a skill of his. Hawke had been unreceptive of direct comfort, deflecting everything with humor. Varric always had to get more and more creative.

So, Varric invited the Inquisitor to the Herald’s Rest for a game of Wicked Grace. It took some urging but she finally agreed. He invited Sera, Dorian, Iron Bull, and Krem—People she knew and was comfortable with.

She lost the first game, miserably. Apparently her clan never taught her to gamble. So Varric decided to show her a few tricks.

She quickly learned that by tricks he meant cheats and scolded him.

He just laughed, declaring that cheating was all a part of the game. Cheat well enough and you don’t get caught.

She muttered about how it sounds like the Game. Capital g, as in the Orlesian Game.

Varric laughed, conceding that it did hold similarities. However, Wicked Grace could be played in a tavern among friends and drinks.

Dorian added that if they were Orlesians playing Wicked Grace there would be significantly more money and peacocks (both human and bird kinds.)

Soon enough the night delved into more story telling instead of focusing solely on the game. It was Varric’s favorite part of the night, when people were just drunk enough to still coherently tell a story and play the game.

Varric told stories about Hawke. His favorite of those that night was about when Hawke was dealing with nobles.

Hawke had been invited to some soiree and Leandra demanded that he attend. By the end of the night Hawke had gotten all the nobles roaring drunk and acting like fools. Their spouses back home were not pleased. Hawke got several strongly worded letters from every single one of them for the next week.

Eventually, the Inquisitor told a story of her own.

Before she had gotten her vallaslin, she and some other teenagers, including their clan’s first, decided that they would go out and investigate rumors of a bear north of the camp. They were at the mouth of the cave when a low rumble made them look around. It turned out that it wasn’t a bear at all. They came face to face with a Drake.The group of them clamored away with some burns and agreed to never speak of it again.

Varric could see the telling of the story cheered the Inquisitor up. Even if it was just for a night, it was worth it to see her laughing and smiling.

Besides, he could always think of more stories to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i've had this foreverr and i've just never posted it whoops.... anyway Dorian is probably next!


End file.
